1.26.2013

When I first
started making vegetarian soups, I worried that they would be watery or bland
without the round, soothing backdrop of good chicken stock. In its stead, some
folks take the time to make a rich roasted vegetable stock, but the point of
soup, to me, is a meal that’s warm and satisfying on the fly—something simple
but downright good.

My winter soup fits the bill. It’s as nimble and changing as my
mood. The only constant is the butternut squash (which breaks down and both
colors and flavors the broth to a richer state, like magic) and aged Parmesan (rind
simmered in the soup for depth, and shavings over the top for a salty
satisfaction). I usually add potatoes (which thicken the broth) and something
green (for good health). The rest, my friends, is utterly subject to your whim.

This is the kind
of soup you’ll want to eat for days on end when the temperature drops and the ground is suddenly covered in white. And if
you make it in your biggest pot, you can. Served with thick slices of whole
grain bread and butter, it will leave you so contented you'll need little
more than a juicy Clementine for dessert.

So what’s the
real magic of this soup? It’s almost guaranteed to serve as many as can fit
around your table (or will double or triple till it does).
Keep a pot of this going once a week in the winter and you might find your
table full of friends and neighbors, waiting with their hands wrapped on
eager bowls.

Ladle it forth. The sun is setting later now but there's much to
winter yet ahead.

1. Slice the carrots and celery plus the
celery leaves. Quarter the potatoes and cut the squash into chunks. Quarter the
tomatoes. Remove the ribs from the kale and chop into bite-sized pieces. Set
all the vegetables aside. Trim the parmesan away from the rind (or use a rind saved from a previous wedge) and set the rest aside.

2.Heat the olive oil in a large soup pot over
medium high heat. Add
the carrots, celery and celery leaves and stir to coat. Cook until lightly browned, 3 to 5
minutes. Add the potatoes, squash, tomatoes, water, thyme and parmesan rind and bring to a
simmer. Add a generous pinch of red pepper flakes and season with salt and
pepper. Cook until the vegetables are tender, the squash is beginning to break down, and the soup is full of flavor, about 45 minutes to 1 hour.

3.Stir in the beans and cook to warm through, 2
minutes. Remove the lid and add the kale. Stir to cook (uncovered) until bright green and
tender, 3 minutes more. Ladle into bowls and grate parmesan cheese generously over the top. Serve warm with buttered bread.

1.19.2013

So much for New Year’s resolutions. Already this month I've done two truly bad things I’ve never done before.
First, I knowingly bought blueberries out of season. Naughty. And second, I
lied to my sister. It wasn’t a lie exactly, but if I’m
being honest, it was a clear omission of truth. Here’s
how it happened:

You can probably relate to this part—we were home for the holidays, my siblings
and I, our kids and spouses under Mom and Dad’s roof, enjoying breaking
all our own rules. I twice ate (and enjoyed) the fresh berries my parents graciously buy to keep our fruit-loving family in oatmeal toppings while they’re feeding us by the dozen. And though they weren't anything close to seasonal, if
I’m being honest again, it was truly freeing. Next, we had
pancakes more than twice in one week—first, mom’s light and lovely whole-wheat
buttermilk stacks, and then at Richard Walker Brother’sPancake House, where their endless list of options brought out the utter glutton
in me. No matter that they aren’t even that good. They churn those babies out
in every shape, size and flavor.

Here’s the thing, I love making pancakes, and developing delicious, surprising combinations people love. But I
rarely crave them. I expect a breakfast to be
filling, long-lasting, energy inducing--the kind of thing that sticks with you for a long day on snowshoes or skis. Pancakes, delightful as they are,
rarely fit that bill.

But when you want pancakes, only pancakes will do.

Pancakes were on my mind for a good week following our trip
home. Still, determined to clean up my act after the New Year, I
ordered the Blueprint Cleanse and encouraged my sis to do the same.
During our juicing days, I sent supportive texts of good cheer (wait till you taste the cashew milk!),
and then, on Friday, another that said: Stock
the fridge with fresh fruits and vegetables for the weekend. No pancakes.But when I woke up Saturday morning, I could think of nothing but pancakes. And there on the top shelf of our fridge was the half-pint
of organic, boldly out-of-season blueberries I’d shamelessly bought
for oatmeal, taunting me. Oatmeal? Or blueberry pancakes?

So here’s what I decided: Pancakes we
could have, but no white flour, and definitely no butter (okay, just one pat).
They should taste like a classic—light, fluffy—but with a lot more heart and
good intent. Since this was an utter detour from the cleanse (pancakes are, after all, just cake
disguised as breakfast) they had to be worth it. Irresistibly good.

Sometimes good things happen when you allow yourself a
sudden detour. This particular good thing was fluffy, hearty, lovable blueberry
barley banana pancakes. No white flour. No sugar. No butter (except that harmless pat you see). And though there are a few naughty fresh blueberries sprinkled on top, these pancakes are studded with organic frozen blueberries (Cascadia
farms), frozen in peek season when they are best, and just the thing to keep on hand for when
you’re craving some winter blues.

Here’s to being bad. Love you
sis.

~

Blueberry Barley and Banana Pancakes

Makes 8 pancakes

3/4 cup whole-wheat white
flour

½ cup barley flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

½ teaspoon fine sea salt

1 egg

1 cup 2% milk

1 teaspoon pure vanilla
extract

1 ripe banana, smashed

1 cup organic blueberries,
fresh or frozen

Canola oil, for cooking

Pure maple syrup, for
serving

Whisk together the flours,
baking powder and salt in a medium bowl. In a separate bowl, whisk together the
egg, milk and vanilla; stir in the smashed banana. Stir the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and mix
until just combined.

Heat a large cast-iron or
non-stick griddle over medium heat. Brush the pan with a thin layer of oil and
drop the pancakes by ¼-cupfuls onto the griddle, leaving plenty of space
between them to let them spread. Cook until the pancakes start to bubble around
the edge, about 2 minutes. Sprinkle a few blueberries around each pancake and carefully
flip. Cook until the pancakes are set and lightly golden brown, 2 minutes more.
Repeat with the remaining batter, brushing lightly with oil as needed. Serve
warm with maple syrup.

P.S. I know what you’re thinking—barley flour,
really? Yes, really. Buy it, and I promise I’ll give you more than one
way to put it to good use. It’s my favorite whole-grain
flour, and it marries like a dream with bananas and warm, bursting blueberries. You'll find it in the health-food section of your supermarket, at your local health food store, or easily online.

1.01.2013

Happy New Year! The first day of the year is a good day for
talking about a healthy start and new beginnings. It’s
a day for fruit salads and resolutions. But we lived so much in every inch and
corner of last year that it’s spilled over into this one. Resolutions
will have to wait. Today, I’m still reflecting.

Last year was full—full of blessings. Of celebrations and
new things. It was a year of grabbing each moment and living in it a little
more richly—allowing space and time for doing or cooking or eating or learning
something that grabbed my attention at a given time, a freer form of living I
learned from my sweet husband. I spent more time luxuriating over details on
the garden. I splurged a little on that fine stinky cheese or handmade chestnut
raviolis at Eataly, despite the knowledge that I could make (the later) at home
for half the cost. I enjoyed the craft
of crackly crust breads I dream of making myself, and not for a minute regretted
that I haven’t gotten to that yet.

Last year, I read books, books like The Invisible Bridge and
The Shoemaker's Wife, which let me travel far beyond our four walls, let my mind and soul soar to new places and times, like a tiny village of the Bergamo Alta in the Italian Alps at the turn of the last century. It is there that I imagined this meal, and
how it came to be in our table—a meal from the time of artisans, when handcrafted
foods unassumingly filled our kitchens—a time of hand cut ravioli and Robiola that aged in the cellar of every family home. It left such an impression on my
soul that when Gourmet asked me what my best meal of the year was, this
one came immediately to mind. It’s now a part of their
collection of the Best Things We Ate in 2012on Gourmet Live, and one of dozens of memorable
meals, moments, and riches I count among my own year's bests.

~

I always thought it odd that in our culture on New Years
Eve, we party until the ball drops, and start the New Year pulling our pillows
over our eyes. I’m much more inclined to want to
sit around a table with good friends and a generous spread of food, as we did
last night, giving thanks for the plenty in our lives—the friendships, our dear
families, good health—and then, at home quietly in our beds, think about what
we want to carry forward into 2013: meals like this one, the love of color and
texture and intoxicating photography, the instinct to stop long enough and often enough to
write down the amazing things our tiny girl is saying and learning, to savor
the pink of her cheeks and lips when she first wakes up, to keep dreaming about
making my own crackly crust breads, and when I can not, keep treating myself to
those made by others.

More than anything else, I want to carry forward gratitude—gratitude
to God for all the tremendous opportunities we’ve been given; Gratitude
to our friends, our family, our communities for making life rich, and for
believing in our little family; Gratitude to all of you who come here to read
and be fed. I hope you’ll keep coming, and most
importantly, I hope your new year
is full of plenty.

Sarah Copeland is a food and lifestyle expert, and the author of Feast: Generous Vegetarian Meals for Any Eater and Every Appetite, and The Newlywed Cookbook. She is the Food Director at Real Simple magazine, and has appeared in numerous national publications including Saveur, Health, Fitness, Shape, Martha Stewart Living and Food & Wine magazines.
As a passionate gardener, Sarah's Edible Living philosophy aims to inspire good living through growing, cooking and enjoying delicious, irresistible whole foods. She thrives on homegrown veggies, stinky cheese and chocolate cake. Sarah lives in New York with her husband and their young daughter.

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